The Writer’s Block

I sit, I wait,

I long for more.

My heart,

it breaks each day by four

For that’s the time I write and rhyme

By four thirty-three, I erase a line.

Time I use,

I do not have

I long for more, for a different path.

I’ll never get there if I sit and wait,

I choose to move. I will be great.

I write, I type,

I then reread

And though I’m slow, it’s not the speed.

I create, I wait,

then I create some more

Because critique comes later,

They’ll be papers on my floor.

“What’s yours will find you”

“Be patient, you’ll be someone, someday”

Empty affirmations, most people say.

But I couldn’t wait, I’ll stay stagnant no more.

My passion has moved me,

I’m not like before.

My fears and my doubts don’t determine my fate,

I choose to move. I will be great.

What I once considered bad, whether ripped or erased, whether crossed out or crumpled, I wrote at my pace

I pick up the papers that covered my floor

A pile of junk, I considered a bore...

One was dated April 4th at four,

It was the day I decided to be silent no more.

It was the day I told myself not to wait,

It was the day I chose to move, since then I’ve been great.

JRL